Sandman
by Bookworm1756
Summary: Well, we all know Jack's center is his way with having fun, and as well as why the Man in the Moon chose him to be a Guardian. Jack had to go through both hardships and death to become the immortal he is today. Sandman is no different. Oneshot


**Hey, whoever. **

**I just finished re-watching the Rise of the Guardians again, and it was just as epic as the first time. I usually write fanfiction for books (hence the pen-name), but Rise of the Guardians is such and awesome movie and I love it and I just had to do this. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't work for Dreamworks. Boo-hoo.**

* * *

"Sandy, get out of bed. You've got to go to school."

Sanguin (a.k.a. Sandman in his mortal life) raised his head from his hard pillow for a second, thought about it, then fell back asleep.

A large something came down on the back of his neck. "Get up," ordered Sanguin's mother. "Get up right now."

Sanguin (who we are going to refer to as Sandy from now on just so readers do not become confused) groaned and flopped out of bed, falling onto his back on the floor. Even by Middle Ages standards he was short, and everyone in that time was short. The boy got off the floor and walked down the spiraling staircase to the first story, where he greeted his father who had been currently talking to one of the servants. Sandy sat down and began to eat his pre-made breakfast.

Sandy's family was most definitely not royalty. But they weren't poor peasants either. Sandy woke up very morning with four servants to oblige to his every command, and absolutely no siblings to share the love with. Sometimes it got lonely in the house, but Sandy could always play with the other kids.

Well, not today.

"Sandy, dear, I don't want you playing with anyone," his mother told him.

"Why?" Sandy asked.

"Because of the flu that's going around," she explained. "It's obviously passing by the poorer people of the kingdom, and for some stupid reason those are the only kids you play with."

Sandy listened while quietly biting on his apple. The reason he didn't play with the school kids was because they always thought themselves better than others. Sandy didn't see the logic. Just because your father owned a few people as well as a large chunk of land doesn't mean you can go bossing around and bullying everyone else.

After quickly kissing him on the top of the head, Sandy's mother let him leave for school. He waved farewell and began to walk.

On his way, he saw that there was indeed a flu going around, so he re-positioned his shirt so that the collar covered his mouth and nose. There were so many poor people begging on the streets for food or money or even just a pig, but no one paid attention to them because they didn't want to catch their illness.

Sandy felt a tug on his leg. He stopped and turned to find a small seven-year-old girl, maybe thirty-five pounds, possibly less, with tousled blond hair and sunken cheeks and characteristics too painful to be real on such a young child.

"Excuse me, sir?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse and uneven. "Do you have any food to spare?"

Sandy was about to lie and say no like he did every day, but something in this girl made him hesitate. "Of course," he told her.

The little girl sneezed, and her whole body shuddered. She nearly fell to her knees in a coughing attack. But her grin nearly broke Sandy's heart. The boy led her to a nearby fruit stand and bought her two apples. The vendor wasn't very pleased, but as long as Sandy paid, he was fine with it.

"Do you have a family?" Sandy asked her. "Or parents? Perhaps an older brother or sister?"

The girl shook her head. "They all died," she told him. "With the flu. About a week ago."

Sandy very badly wanted to take this little girl home with him, but he knew that wasn't possible. The girl thanked him again and scurried off, her bare feet pitter-pattering on the dull stone pathway. Sandy watched her leave for a moment, then turned and left for the school.

* * *

When Sandy got home, he immediately went to the family library and took out a book. The biggest one he could find. He loved to read, but there weren't many authors in the world at the time. His all-time favourite story would have to be The Odyssey by Homer. Sandy had a deep passion for Greek Mythology that no one could really explain.

After he finished re-reading the book for the eighth time, Sandy put it down to go play outside. His mother stopped him quickly.

"No going outside," she reminded him. "Remember that."

Sandy nodded once and instead sat near the window, peering outwards. All the other kids were having fun playing; why couldn't he?

Then he saw the girl from earlier that day. She was watching the richer and healthier kids play hopscotch and jump rope from afar, crouching behind some barrels of wine. She seemed more ill than before, and she shuddered ceaselessly.

Sandy glanced back at his mother, who was busy scolding a servant for dying the sheets the wrong colour. She wouldn't notice if Sandy left for a minute.

The boy opened the front door a little bit and sauntered outside, heading for the little girl. His neighbors glanced when he walked by them, but they gave him not too much attention.

"You okay?" Sandy asked the girl.

She saw him and her eyes grew large and alarmed. The little girl got to her feet and ran away as fast as she could**—**which wasn't too fast, to tell the truth. Sandy could have easily caught up to her, but he wanted was curious to see where she was headed.

"I just want to help!" he called out to her.

The girl looked back with a terrified expression on her face. She ran all the way to the poorer part of town, and Sandy was forced to cover his mouth and nose with his hand for fear of catching the flu. People on the streets stopped to stare at him**—**it was quite obvious he was rich because of his clothes. Sandy heeded them no attention. The girl turned around corner, and Sandy followed...

She had disappeared.

"Where did you go?" Sandy asked the winds. He peered around, but there was no one in the alleyway. Just some dirt and scattered boards.

Sandy kneeled down and moved the boards aside to reveal a small hole in the building next door, just large enough for one skinny child to crawl through. Sandy was plumper than most kids at the time, but that was coming from a guy who lived in the Middle Ages where the richest food you can get was a pig. With a sigh, Sandy crawled through the hole.

There were sick kids everywhere. Some of them were his age, most of them were younger, but a few were even teenagers. They lay on cots, on the floor, or leaned against the wall with a sibling or by himself or herself. There must have been fifty of them, all sick, all dying, all going to die.

Sandy knew he should have gotten out of there before he caught the flu too. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

The kids stared at him fearfully but curiously at the same time. They probably thought Sandy was going to report them to the police and have them moved out of their sanctuary (or what they called a sanctuary). But curious, because they had never really stopped to stare at a rich kid longer than it took to pick their pockets.

"Hey," said Sandy. No one acknowledged him back.

"You guys need food, or something?" he continued. "Or water? Maybe some clothes? I've got some money, if you want it."

Still, no one moved.

"Okay, then," continued Sandy. "Well, I'm Sanguin, but everyone calls me Sandy. It's because of my hair." Sandy ran a hand through his golden-tanned hair that had given him his name. "It's cool place you've got here. Kind of reminds me of the Cyclops cave. Very dark, very damp—you know?"

"Cyclops?" asked someone, breaking the vow of silence.

"Yeah," said Sandy. "Mean and scary beasts with only one eye and a passion for human blood."

A few younger girls said _eew… _but Sandy thought he heard someone giggle.

"You guys seriously don't know what a Cyclops is?" Sandy continued. "Do you know maenads? Nymphs? Greek gods?"

No one spoke up and yelled out that they did.

"Well, where should I start?" asked Sandy, pacing from side to side. "Okay, so, once upon a time, there were these two super-duper-major gods, Gaea and Uranus. They had a bunch of kids, called the Titans. Kronos, one of them, overthrew Gaea and Uranus, and the Titans became the rulers of the universe."

Someone else laughed. Everyone was intrigued.

Sandy smiled. He never had the chance to tell anyone about his passion, probably because they didn't care. But these people did. He sat down on an empty barrel that probably used to hold beer or wine or dried fruit. A few younger children gathered around his feet, sniffling and coughing.

"Well, Kronos married his sister, Rhea, and together they had six babies. Three girls and three guys," Sandy continued. "But Kronos gobbled them all up!"

"Was he hungry?" asked someone, who probably knew the feeling of being hungry.

"No," said Sandy. "As a Titan, he was never hungry, and had all the food he'd ever want. No; this Titan was afraid of his kids overthrowing him like he did to _his _daddy."

"What does…over…overthrow mean?" asked someone else.

"To take over," said Sandy. "To become ruler!"

A toddler laughed.

"Well, Rhea wasn't okay with this, so she gave Kronos a rock to eat instead of Zeus, the youngest god," continued Sandy. "Zeus grew up by himself, and when he learned about his daddy eating all his brothers and sisters, he went and made him throw them all up! And…"

* * *

By the time Sandy left the sanctuary, it was well past midnight. He had already decided to come back again the next day, even if he hadn't told the other kids. He might not be able to save all of those children from dying, but at least he could give them a last few days to remember.

* * *

The next time Sandy went there there were a lot more people waiting for his stories. He brought with him several baskets of food, which managed to get everyone two small loafs of bread. He told them stories of the Minotaur and of sirens and of Medusa and of all the demigod heroes. He told them tales of gods and goddess, competitions and races. Life and death. Light and dark. Despair and love.

The kids ultimately loved stories with the good creatures such as pegasi and satyrs. So Sandy began to make up his own legends with all these fabulous creatures. He told his audience fables he made up on the spot, or a story that he himself had experienced but with a twist to make it fantasy. Everyone loved it.

Sandy saw so many people come and pass by in the weeks he spent there. He grew imagination writers and authors only dreamed of having. The little girl who had brought him to the place in the first place one night died after Sandy told the group a story of a lost prince who was banished from his kingdom but returned when a fairy came to bring him back.

No—he couldn't save anyone. But he could give those hopes and dreams and plans for a better future.

But you don't do these risky sorts of things without a price.

* * *

"Is he going to be alright, doctor?" Sandy's mother asked the medic anxiously. Sandy was terribly sick with the flu he had caught from the poorer kids because of visiting them so much. Sandy moaned and clawed at his thin bed sheets uselessly.

…_cold…so cold…_

"We don't know," said the doctor truthfully. "This flu has already caught so many, and we don't know when or how it will stop. But there are some who tough out of it. I recommend three meals a day and plenty of sleep. Nothing alcoholic and unhealthy. I'll return to check on him in seven days."

"Thank you, doctor," said Sandy's father, escorting the man outside. Sandy's mother in turn fell to her knees at her son's bedside and wept.

* * *

Sandy knew he was going to die. He had one of the worst fevers doctors had seen in years. But he had to go back. At least once more.

So during the night, he crept out of bed and slipped on some old and worn shoes. He tiptoed outside, and once far enough away from his home, he let out the coughing fit he had been holding in. He then ran/limped his way to the children building.

No one was there.

Where was everybody? Sandy looked around the large beaten room, but saw no one. There was always _someone _there.

A thought struck him. Were they discovered?

He ran back outside and caught sight of one of the girls who he knew from the sanctuary shivering on a corner of the street. So many others he passed by. The building was locked up tighter than an ill person clinging on to some warmth. He was too late.

No more legends.

No more sanctuary.

No more plans for a better future.

No more, "Ten more minutes, Sandy!"

No more Sandy at all.

Everything those kids had was lost.

Sandy staggered home and climbed into bed. He had died before the sun rose up in the morning.

* * *

Now Sandy was the Sandman. He too started out as an invisible immortal, but when he discovered that he could control the gold sand that created dreams, he began to use his imagination to grant children wishes as they slept.

And he became a Guardian.

He realized his center at about two hundred years old. Imagination. That was why the Man in the Moon chose him.

But he never realized why he had an inability to speak. Why was that? He tried asking the Man in the Moon, but it was either he didn't pay attention, or that he had no clue what Sandman was asking him because he couldn't speak.

But it was okay. He expressed himself with his sand. Around five hundred years after his death, some new dark immortal who called himself Pitch Black came into the world. He turned Sandman's dreams into what he called nightmares. The dark ages were a horrible time, but the Man in the Moon chose three other Guardians to help the Sandman. The dark ages quickly passed by and Pitch was left at square one again. Sure, every once in a while a kid experienced a scary dream, but Sandman made sure to grant that child an entire week worth of happy ones.

It was when Sandman died for the second time that he realized exactly how powerful Pitch really was.

* * *

It was a burning sensation, as if every grain of gold sand that made him up was set on a burning rage of merciless fire. The black spread throughout him, and the Sandman cursed himself for being stubborn and not fleeing like a responsible person. But _nnoooo... _He thought he could take Pitch single-handedly. And paid the price.

But the Sandman wasn't about to let Pitch have any satisfaction by seeing him struggle. He closed his eyes and held his arms at his side, giving in to the darkness willingly.

* * *

After the Sandman died for the second time, he anticipated a feeling of some sort of agony and maybe eternal darkness. What he did not expect was the moon.

_Sandman, _the Man in the Moon spoke to Sandy for the first time in many centuries. _What have you done?_

Sandman was tongue-tied. That being an expression, that is. _The Man in the Moon? _he asked/thought.

Apparently the Man in the Moon could hear him, because he replied, _Why have you left the Earth when there are children to protect? _The voice didn't sound angry or mad or upset; it sounded puzzled, like how a parent sounds puzzled when a child knows the answer to a question that he or she learned at school, and asks their mommy or daddy the question so he or she can prove that they know many things.

_I had no choice, _replied the Sandman with his thoughts, looking down at his black arms. _Pitch turned all my dreams into nightmares. I don't even know if I'm a bad guy now or not. _

Sandman realized how stupid that sounded only after he said it.

_Sandman, _the Moon again said. _Do you know why I chose you?_

_Because of my imagination, _Sandman replied.

_But out of all the authors and writers and storytellers of the world, why did I choose you? _pestered the Moon.

Sandman did not know the answer to that.

_Because you give them joy, _replied the Moon. _And hopes. If a single boy can bring happiness and wonder to fifty orphaned and sick children, what will that boy do as an immortal? You were willing to help those poor people if it meant sacrificing your schoolwork and all your friends and the trust of your parents and even your very own health. You were willing to forgo all that and much more just so a few children could die with a happy smile on their faces._

Sandman never thought of that. It filled him with a sense of proudness.

_But do you know why you cannot speak? _continued the Man in the Moon.

Sandman did not know. Many nights he had pondered over this with no avail. He had been perfectly capable of speaking in his mortal life—why couldn't he in this one?

_Because you are powerful, Sandman_. _More powerful than you could ever begin imagine. I foresaw this day, the time when Pitch Black would overpower you and render your dreams into nightmares. I gave you the inability of speech so you would not turn evil like him._

_Oh, _Sandman thought. _Well that cheers me up lots. _

The Man of Sand could almost see the moon chuckling. _I knew you would do more good than harm if I rendered you an immortal. This is just a small precautionary act I was required to perform. Now, Sandman, you have two options. One is to stay here forever, drifting in and out of the mortal and immortal realm without your powers. Or you could go back out into the human world and help the fight against Pitch. It would be much easier for you to stay here, but a lot more trouble for your fellow Guardians if you did._

_You mean, I'm still a Guardian? _asked Sandman, hope swelling up in him. _Not some killed immortal forced to stay in this realm forever? You mean I can really actually truly go back?_

_Yes, _replied the Man in the Moon. _Because if one child believes and is unafraid, even the most powerful immortals cannot stop them from bringing back the dreams of everyone._

Sandman smiled. _See you in the sky, Moon, _he bid farewell.

And all the nightmares turned into dreams again.

* * *

**Aw...**

**REVIEW! REVIEW OR SANDY WILL LET PITCH GIVE YOU NIGHTMARES!**

**PS: About the Sanguin thing... Duh, of course Sandy isn't going to be called Sandy in his real life! I chose something medival-like with the same three letters, though, and made Sandy his nickname. **


End file.
